


Fever Pitch

by Kaiserkorresponds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Whump, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Feelings, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: "M–Martin?""Yes, love?" Martin carefully brushed a damp stand of hair off of Jon's cheek."I don't, I don't feel well.""Oh, I know, sweetheart." Martin murmured, as if seeing Jon laid low with this flu wasn't breaking his heart.--Jon catches the flu during their time in the safehouse and some closely held emotions are revealed!!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 37
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

It had been well over a week of this cold. Well over a week since Martin had first felt the slight simmer of heat off of Jon's skin; and at least a week since he'd heard the first of the tiny sniffles he'd tried to stifle. 

Jon had protested it initially, claiming that the new abundance of symptoms was anything but a cold. Blaming the cropping up congestion on everything from the cabin's poor air circulation, to the flowering plants that were decidedly not blossoming outside, and even that the chilly air had made his skin run a bit warm. To compensate, he'd claimed. 

Martin had simply tutted softly, and tucked an extra blanket around his shoulders. 

A few, slow dragging days later, Jon didn't have the strength to protest. 

His fever had risen rapidly from the low grade temperature Martin had first felt to a burning thirty-nine degrees, and remained trapped there no matter how much paracetamol Martin plied him with. And the lingering sniffles had been a light, dusty sound before were now thick and painful. 

The coughing, which had also begun as a light, dry sound similar to sniffles, was similarly wet and had Jon gasping and shaking in the wake of each fit. 

Martin couldn't help but feel the spark of worry that had been simmering in his chest all week alight as the rough, scraping coughing started up again; the force of it near rattling the couch with the strength of them. 

As gently as he could, he shifted Jon's tiny frame to his shoulder, pausing as Jon mumbled deep in his throat. 

"M– Martin?" 

"Yes, love?" Martin carefully brushed a damp stand of hair off of Jon's cheek. 

"I don't, don't feel well." 

"Oh, I know, sweetheart." Martin murmured, as if seeing Jon laid low with this flu wasn't breaking his heart. 

"You'll feel better soon, here." He rummaged through the pile of clutter across the coffee table. "I've got some more of the Lemsip from the store, if you think you could manage a few sips?" 

Jon's eyes cracked open, squinting even in the cabin's dim lights. 

"The tea kind?" He rasped. 

"Yeah, love. The tea kind." 

Jon shifted minutely, his sticky skin hot against Martin's shoulder and the slight groan he let out at the movement low and stuffy. One of his hands dug its way out of the blankets as he reached blindly for the cup and his fingertips trembled shakily. 

"Here, love." Martin carefully slipped the mug into his grasp, hastily wrapping his own fingers around the base as it tilted dangerously to the side. "Drink it slow, alright." 

Jon nodded stiffly, rasping out a grateful thanks and raising the steaming cup to his lips to sip it. 

"There, that's it. You're alright." Martin murmured, watching his throat bob with each swallow of the medicine. 

Abruptly, Jon jerked the cup away as he gasped in a breath, a fit of coughs flaring up again in his chest and rattling in his throat. 

Martin quickly lowered the cup back down to the blankets, patting against Jon's shoulder with quick, gentle motions. 

"It's alright, love, just get it all up. You'll feel better once you do." 

"Martin, I–" Jon panted. "I'm– I–" 

"Shhhh, save your breath, okay?" Martin cut him off, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades and down his spine as the fit refused to abate. 

"I'm sorry." Jon cried sharply. 

"What?" 

Martin stared at him, the sudden shift in tone like a slap to the face. 

He drew in a slow breath of his own, carefully schooling his face from shock. 

"Love, what are you sorry for?"

Jon coughed again, the heavy dampness to it choking the words as he rushed them out, "I– I, I'm so sorry. You, you have to take care of me, and you had to leave everything. And now– now it's all ruined. Everything's ruined." 

"Oh, Jon." Martin exhaled, carefully stroking down a soothing hand down his hot back. The blistering heat of the fever clearly a driving factor in the sudden emotions. "I promise I don't mind looking after you; and everything is not ruined. You didn't ruin anything, love." 

"But you–" 

"Just want you to feel better, sweetheart." Martin gently cut him off. "I promise." 

Jon's fever bright eyes peered up at him from the bundle of blankets, wide and miserable. His deep skin didn't flush as starkly as Martin's pale cheeks, but there was still a sickly scarlet painted across them, and his lashes appeared almost teary with the dampness clinging to them. 

"I don't want to trap you." 

"You're not." Martin said, his voice as soft as he could muster, but the conviction still as strong as steel. "You'd never." 

Jon blinked up at him, sniffling thickly as his eyes glazed over with heat. 

With the strength of the fever, Martin doubted that he would even be cognizant of this conversation later. 

"Here, love. If you can finish this for me, I'll put on one of those documentaries you like." Martin gently pushed the cup still gripped into his palms back up. "There's only a few more sips left, okay?" 

Jon rasped out another thick set of coughs, but still sipped obediently at the warm liquid. 

His eyes drooped with each sip, the warmth and the medication absorbing into his body lulling him back to sleep. 

As his grip slackened, Martin carefully pried the cup from his fingers, setting it back down into the flurry of tissues and used blister packs. 

"It's okay, love, you're alright." He whispered softly as Jon's lashes fluttered with the movement. Letting out his own sigh of relief as Jon's breath settled and he slipped back into sleep. 

"We are going to talk later, Jon." Martin murmured. "When you're not absolutely burning and we can work through some of this. 

He carefully carded a hand through Jon's slick curls, listening to the soft, raspy sounds of his breath and watching his eyes flutter behind their lids. His mind no doubt conjuring up fever vicious dreams.

"We'll talk once you've healed a bit."


	2. Chapter 2

"Jon, love? Are you awake?" 

Jon's eyelids fluttered, the salt clinging to his lashes flaky in the mid-morning light and his breaths still tinged with just the faintest hint of a wheeze. 

"Jon? I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it really is time for another dose of medicine. I already let you sleep fifteen minutes longer than I should've." 

Martin felt a surge of fondess rise up in his chest as Jon's nose crinkled up, his eyes finally opening just a crack. 

"S'what?" He slurred, the words raspy with residual congestion and the clinging vestiges of sleep. 

"Medicine, love." Martin reminded. He carefully shook the bottle, the paracetamol pills rattling faintly against the sides of the container. 

"'S'right, yes. Right." 

Jon blinked sleepily, and stretched out in a slow, almost feline motion. His back arched and cheeks creased in a massive yawn, and even his toes curling up as he begun to wake. 

Martin couldn't help a soft smile from drawing itself on his lips. 

With his hair fanned out around his, thankfully less flushed, face and the soft glow to his eyes, Jon almost appeared healthy again. The only remnants of his illness being the lingering cough and the bits of gravel that were still roughening his voice. 

"Martin?" Jon asked, peering up from under the blanket. 

"Oh, right, of course." Martin felt his own face flush deeply and he hastily shook out two of the tiny pills into his palm. "Here, that's. That's for you." 

Jon smiled softly. "Thank you." 

He carefully levered himself up into sitting against the menagerie of pillows. His fingers closed around the pills, he washed down the tablets with a quick sip of water, chasing them with a soft sigh. 

"Are you feeling better today?" Martin asked, unable to help himself from feeling a tiny burst of happiness at the ease on Jon's features. The soft relaxed lines across his face a stark contrast to the pained haze that had been written over them in the thick of the illness. 

"Oh, yes." Jon hummed just the slightest bit. "Still a bit achy, but definitely not as disgusting as before." 

"You weren't disgusting." 

"Martin, I quite literally sweat all over you, and if I remember correctly, that cough was quite productive." 

Martin shrugged. "It's not as if you could have helped it." 

Jon's eyes rolled dramatically. "Oh yes. And I assume my fevered ramblings were adorable too?" 

The breath caught in Martin's throat. 

"Well, you did say some things." He said, only a faint waver to the words betraying his sudden nerves. 

Jon chuckled. "Well, likely not anything of consequence, considering the circumstances." 

"You said you felt like a burden on me." The words practically jumped from Martin's lips, the memory of Jon's panicked confession still fresh in his memories even after so many days.

There was a brief silence as Jon's face went impassively blank, his brows furrowed in clear incomprehension. 

"I wasn't– I promise I wasn't prying for details. You just were so feverish, and– and you seemed so upset and you kinda, well, blurted it out and–" 

"Martin." Jon said evenly, his tone measured but still sharp enough to halt the words that felt as if they were pouring from Martin's tight throat. "I'm not angry, a bit embarrassed maybe. But, erm, I'm not angry. I'm, well, I can't exactly deny it either, since I suppose it's true." 

Martin froze, sitting back for a second, and parsing through the implications of the admittance. 

"You really meant that?" 

Jon fidgeted awkwardly. "Well, I really can't say that per se. Considering I don't remember what I said." 

"You– there was quite a bit of talk of forcing me to leave my life behind. And of ruining things. And you seemed– pretty guilty about it." 

"I, erm." Jon paused, taking in a visible breath and coughing slightly on the exhale. "I can't say that, I– well. I wasn't wrong, was I?" 

Martin felt a wave of emotion crash over him. The panic that Jon had hidden his anxieties so well that it had taken a near delirious episode of fever to draw them out, the fear that their relationship had hinged on guilt rather than love, and the overwhelming desire to smooth out the worried creases that had formed over Jon's face with the admittance. 

"Jon, I. I promise you, I promised you then, and I mean it now. You didn't ruin my life, or destroy anything, and I'm not trapped by you. Horrible, well terrible, things happened at the Institute, but I don't blame you for it. Or harbor any sort of hatred that you stole my old life or anything." Martin paused, huffing out a breath that was half a sigh and half a chuckle. "It wasn't as if there was much to take me from to begin with even if you had. And even if there was, I don't blame you or secretly hate you. And taking care of your partner when they're ill isn't a burden either. I know that can be a bit difficult to internalize, but you deserve to be cared for." 

Jon blinked, a myriad of emotions flickering through his irises at what felt like light speed. 

"It seems as if fevered me is far more talkative than I thought." He said finally, his voice edged with a slight dryness that had nothing to do with illness. 

"Well, maybe a bit." Martin huffed out another breath through his nose. "You did have quite a moment there, but I promise that none of those fears are real." 

Jon nodded slowly. "I don't exactly blame myself for all of this, but still. If I hadn't dragged you into this–" 

He let the sentence hang uncharacteristically. The words trailing off into a far away gaze as his jaw tightened. 

"Jon." Martin said, softly but still firmly. "I worked at the Institute for years before I'd even met you. And I've heard enough from Tim and Sasha, and well, you, to know that you didn't even ask for me to be transferred the Archives." 

Jon winced. "I, er, I apologize for that as well." 

"Well, that one I will accept." Martin let his mouth quirk up into a quick smile, years of a hopelessly unrequited crush flashing through his memories. "But, all that talk about ruining my life, that's not your fault." 

"Yes, I– yes." Jon nodded and exhaled heavily. A fresh coughing fit wracking him as it scraped past his throat; the sound of it far damper and deeper than previously. 

"I think," Martin said softly. "That it might be good for you– for us really, if we both rested for a bit. You're still a bit ill, and truthfully I'm knackered." 

Jon inhaled thickly. "Yeah, I could– alright." 

Martin smiled gently, carefully placing the bottle he had still been gripping on the nightstand. "Are you alright if I come cuddle for a bit?" 

"Please." 

Martin felt his smile widen, the feeling corresponding exactly to the soft, hazy look in Jon's eyes and the quiet, but insistent, way he'd answered. 

"Alright, give me just a second." 

Carefully, he pushed aside the stool he had been perched on and clambered up onto the tiny mattress. Daisy hadn't exactly kept it in top shape, but it bowed softly under his weight and pressed against the thick sheets and Jon's still slightly feverish skin, he felt comfortably cocooned. 

"Comfy?" He asked, voice coming out muted in the wake of the emotions and the still soft morning sunshine. 

"Yes, quite." Jon exhaled, the sound clearer that it had been in days. 

Martin felt a little flare of warmth in his chest at the contented sound. 

A small, traitorous, part of his thoughts questioned if it was due to the weight of Jon's guilt easing off of his lungs as much as the illness had, but he pushed it away into a recess for another time.

Instead, he chose to savor the golden beams that dappled the floorboards and the brush of Jon's soft curls against his cheek. 

There would undoubtedly be more conversations later, likely with harsher and stronger emotions that had yet to be unearthed, but in that moment all Martin could feel was bliss and the gentle rise and fall of Jon's breaths against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its v v quick BUT I couldn't resist posting the second half to this already !! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed my (pretty classic for me) delve into sickfic !! <3 
> 
> I had a good time writing this one and maybe??? There could be a sequel or more chapters ?? 
> 
> Either way let me know in the comments if you enjoyed or drop some kudos !! <3


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